Conspiracies
by Lucifer Rosemaunt
Summary: ErikRaoul slash. matchmaker!Christine in collusion with Erik. Only good things can happen from there.
1. Conspiracies

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
Summary: sick!Erik.  
Warning(s): slash   
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul  
Word Count: 1,759

A/N: Happy… Easter. I almost completely forgot that Easter was sneaking up on us. How is that possible with all the bunnies in the stores? Idk. However, here's the required holiday fic.  
Story note: I said I wanted a sick!Erik fic, so here it is. However, it didn't really come out the way I wanted. So, maybe there will be a second attempt.

o.o.o.o

Conspiracies  
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul stood at the very edge of the ocean, the waves lapping at his feet. The sun was hidden behind the dense fog that clung to the seashore, and he shivered against the chill. After that journey, even the chill couldn't keep him from standing here. The need to stretch his legs and just be still after that bumpy ride was too much to ignore. This was also the perfect opportunity to be alone to gather his thoughts. He and Christine had argued the entire way here, which was counterproductive to the stress-free vacation he'd hoped this trip to be. Heaving a deep sigh, he slouched for a moment before straightening. Even the beauty and peace of the ocean couldn't truly calm him.

As though to prove this point exactly, Christine called from the cottage. "Raoul!"

He wondered if ignoring her would make her stop calling him.

"Raoul!" She screamed even louder.

Wincing, he sighed again. He'd forgotten just how strong her voice could be. So much for peace and quiet. He bent over to pick up his shoes before heading back towards the cottage. She called his name four more times before he came into view.

"Yes, Christine." He said dutifully. Seeing her scowl, Raoul wondered if he should've walked faster. He wanted to avoid another argument.

"Don't give me that tone," she warned.

Before she could really become angry with him, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"He's sick."

Not seeing the significance of such a statement, Raoul shrugged. "So?"

She looked at him in disbelief. "Do something about it."

Raoul scoffed and turned to head back towards the beach. She grabbed his arm. He stopped only to make this point. "He followed _you_ here, not me."

She stared at him for a moment before laughing. "If you still believe that then now I'm _certain_ you need to spend more time with him."

Before he could respond, she waved and skipped off towards the beach. "Christine." He watched her go. "Christine!"

"Make sure he doesn't die." She suggested with another wave.

He stayed where he was until she disappeared into the fog. Entering the cottage, he walked slowly through the foyer, stopping to look at each painting and piece of furniture. The rug was particularly fascinating. He considered stopping by the kitchen to find a snack, but a thump from upstairs caught his attention. A maid rushed quickly down the stairs, her hair in disarray. She was at the bottom of the stairs when she finally saw him.

"Vicomte." She placed a hand on her chest in shock. "I…" She glanced upstairs.

"It's all right," he said. "I understand."

She looked so relieved; Raoul wondered if she would hug him. Instead, she composed herself as best as she could. "Even though Mademoiselle Daae sent me, he does not wish to see anyone."

He nodded and motioned for her to continue with her work. Reluctantly, Raoul climbed the stairs, muttering to himself. "Old man. If it's too strenuous to ride this far, don't do it. Selfish, stupid." The door to the bedroom Erik currently occupied was ajar. On the floor, halfway in the room and halfway out was a broken candlestick. "Ungrateful, insolent…"

"Fop." Erik said, "I'm not deaf."

Raoul picked up the candlestick on his way in and closed the door behind him. Looking disdainfully at the man confined to the bed, he retorted. "You're also not well apparently?" He surveyed the room and spotted the empty candleholder by the bed. It was within arm's reach; Raoul glanced at Erik for a moment. It was probably the only light thing that could be thrown while being limited to the bed. He briefly wondered how sick the older man truly was.

"I'm quite well." Erik said defensively. He tossed the blanket off himself and struggled to push himself up.

Raoul didn't believe that statement for a moment. The mere fact that he had accepted the bed in the first place was proof enough that he was ill. Erik had even stopped attempting to sit up halfway through the effort. "And I suppose you've kept indoors because you simply wanted to rest?" He kept his teasing light. There was no use angering him too much, as tempting as it was.

Erik glared when Raoul sat at the edge of the bed. Before he could react, Raoul placed a hand on his forehead. Technically, because of the mask, Raoul only felt half of his forehead, but what he did feel was unnaturally warm. Erik smacked his hand away.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Raoul looked at him for a moment before chuckling to himself.

"What's so funny?" Erik scooted away from him, annoyed with himself for not having the energy to do anything more.

Raoul put his hand on Erik's forehead again just to have it swat away. Before Erik could demand an explanation, Raoul said, "You are very sick." He grinned. "You can't do anything."

"I'll kill you," Erik immediately responded.

"Yes, I'm sure you would if you could," Raoul stood up, and grabbed the blankets Erik had thrown off. He pulled them up and tossed them lightly over Erik, who shivered from the breeze the action caused. "But for now, get some rest."

Erik narrowed his eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you," Raoul spoke as though to a child, something he knew would annoy Erik. "I wouldn't kill you if you didn't try to kill me. And so far, you've only stalked us and gotten ill for all your efforts." When Erik only looked away from him, Raoul wondered if the ghost could always be sick so that he'd be this acquiescent. He walked towards the door saying, "I'll get more blankets since you're cold."

"Who says I'm cold?" Erik groused, but Raoul was already out of the room. He shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed and reluctantly admitted to himself that even sheer force of will would not make him better immediately. That didn't stop him from cursing his luck. Maybe he should've listened to his first instinct and not have followed them here. So far away from everything he knew, he couldn't help but act differently – at least, that's the excuse he gave himself for accepting the Vicomte's kindness so easily. Closing his eyes for a moment, he planned to conserve his energy while waiting for Raoul to return. He had several choice words for him.

Erik didn't remember falling asleep, but once he was under Morpheus' spell he couldn't pull himself any further into consciousness for longer than a few moments at a time. He had a distant awareness of time; impressions of what was happening around him came in swells of feelings and clips of sounds. There was the feel of a heavy blanket draped on him that kept the chills at bay. The bed had dipped to one side as someone sat with him. A cool damp cloth rested on his forehead. Someone coaxed him to drink much needed iced water just at the moment when he'd felt his throat too dry. He heard a soothing baritone muttering nonsense and assurances. And sometime maybe in the very beginning, he couldn't be sure, he'd felt someone remove his mask, but he'd been so far gone that he hadn't fought as he should have.

Then there was nothing.

When he finally woke up fully from the haze of illness, Christine sat in a chair by his bed. Her cool hand held his, but for some reason, it felt so small in his grasp. It felt wrong even though he did not think he had anything to compare it to.

The first thing he checked was to make sure his mask was fully in place. He was pleased when his arm didn't feel so heavy and even more pleased that maybe he'd simply imagined someone taking his mask off since he was still wearing it.

"Good morning." Christine watched him carefully as he awoke, trying not to grin at his disorientation.

He couldn't define why he felt disappointed.

"I'm quite relieved to see you better," she admitted. She let go of his hand with a pat. He immediately moved it to rest on his stomach. "You've been thrashing and burning up for a little more than a day."

Erik looked around the room before shutting his eyes. They were alone. A sudden wave of anger hit him but just as quickly disappeared. There was no reason to be angry; he knew that. The only thing the strong emotion had done was highlight just how tired he still felt. With some effort, he forced himself to relax a little further into the bed.

Moments later, the door opened. Erik kept his eyes closed; however, instead of Christine leaving, Erik heard a second voice whisper.

"Has he woken?"

Erik wondered why he'd never realized how Raoul's voice was just as charming as the rest of him. He struggled not to frown. That thought, he blamed completely on the illness.

He heard the rustle of Christine's dress as she turned towards the door. "Are you going to run away again?" The exasperation was easy to hear, and Erik had to wonder what she meant by that.

"I needed to shower and eat." Raoul said defensively.

Christine glared at him, and even though it was just an excuse, it was also the truth. "I thought you were going to sleep."

"I am going to. I'm just checking that…," Raoul glanced at Erik before quickly focusing on Christine. She smiled knowingly at him. "Good night." He made a quick retreat.

When the door shut, Christine said as though in the middle of a conversation Erik couldn't remember starting. "I was enjoying myself at the beach all of yesterday. It was only this morning, I think, when you started showing signs of waking did he rush me here with instructions to watch you."

Erik didn't need to open his eyes to know she was grinning. He wanted to question the validity of her statements, but if he focused hard enough, sifting through the sensations while he'd been ill, he could recall the near constant feel Raoul's hand in his.

"But now that we know you won't die," Christine stood up, "I'll be enjoying the rest of my day. Don't disappear when you're well enough to get up."

Erik didn't have any intentions of running away.

She was halfway out of the room when she remembered to add, "I told you it was a good idea to come."

o.o.o.o

End ficlet

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: I think I like slash-fangirl!Christine too much (or should I just call her matchmaker!Christine instead). It's a crutch I should stop using. Either way, this is pure unabashed fluff, isn't it? I'm surprisingly getting a lot of fluff ideas. However, there wasn't as much Erik-Raoul sick interaction as I would like. I'm forcing you to fill in the blanks of how nursemaid!Raoul acted.


	2. Truth in Wine

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
Summary: This current one-sided slash is quite amusing to me for some reason and therefore warrants another chapter. (Although admittedly, it isn't actually one-sided, sort of.)  
Warning(s): pre-slash   
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul  
Word Count: 2,084

A/N: Yes, I am trying to update once a week this winter holiday. I don't know how I managed to do it before; I'm struggling.  
Story note: Don't look for continuity from chapter to chapter (if there will indeed be a chapter after this one) because they're just a series of snapshots. The title of this chapter is a well used one, in vino veritas. I think it's mostly true. Depends on how drunk you really are.

o.o.o.o

Truth in Wine  
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

"Angel."

The voice was a mere whisper, as though the owner of said voice was absolutely certain there was someone to hear the silent endearment despite being in a completely empty hallway. The only audible noise was a muted combination of breathing and the shuffling of feet.

"Angel."

Just as softly now, but with a hint of annoyance. For all intents and purposes there should be no one around to hear her. The hallway was one used only when sets needed to be taken down and when there were props and backdrops that needed to be saved – and with Andre and Firmin being the ever optimists about recycling in order to save money, these rooms were now filled to the brim, but hollow elephants and wood statues had no means to hear her call.

"Angel," Christine said again, not bothering to whisper any longer. It was a precaution that was no longer necessary due to the location as well as the hour. She stopped walking and allowed her load to rest against the wall. After taking extra care to ensure said load was not going to fall over, she took several steps forward to stop beside a large portrait of Apollo bestowing gifts upon mere mortals.

She hadn't waited very long before the portrait shuddered and swung open as though on hinges, which now that she thought about it, it must be in order to move as such.

Erik stepped out soundlessly and glanced at her. She was slightly breathless. Her dress was wrinkled, whether from having worn it the entire day or – he glanced past her – from having carried such a heavy load, he was uncertain. Her arms were crossed, and the index finger of her left hand tapped a staccato on her side. He slowly turned to close the passageway, taking extra time to ensure that the frame was indeed firmly in place.

"I have been searching for you for nearly the past half hour." She forced herself to avoid explaining exactly how difficult arriving here had been because she knew it would do very little in terms of chastising him. For a ghost that was supposedly always watching, he had been absent all evening, and it had only been here when she was certain to be far enough away from the other occupants of the Opera Populaire that she had been able to call for him.

Erik's attention slid past her once more. "I had been," he distractedly commented, "preoccupied."

Her scowl went unseen as his attention had yet to return to her. "I told you to remain at hand."

At that, he looked at her, eyebrow rising. "You… _told _me?"

She stopped tapping her finger then and realized exactly why he had been noticeably absent. She should have realized it sooner. Sighing, she tried again, "You know that is not what I meant."

He simply retorted. "I do not need your meddling."

She scoffed then. The glare sent her way was expected. What was even more expected was when his attention once again wandered.

"You appreciate it though, do you not?" she asked, only partially succeeding in hiding her smug grin.

Hearing her tone, he attempted to ignore the distraction that was leaning against the wall past her. He was certain she was beginning to take too many liberties with him. Unfortunately, he could not deny her statement. Or rather, he could but it would be a blatant lie. By himself, there had been no manner that would have allowed him to speak with the viscount without first resorting to some sort of violence and even now violence still occurred. Without her intervention, there was little chance that they would come out as relatively unharmed from their interactions as they did. His attention inevitably drifted past her.

So, instead of answering her question, he commented on what had apparently been her plan all along when she'd told him yesterday to be at her disposal this evening.

"How did you manage to convince him to drink?"

The viscount was rather good about the amount of alcoholic substances he imbibed at the opera house. During events, Erik had only ever seen him take a single glass for the entire evening and sip from it occasionally in order to be polite. In fact, in the near two years that the viscount had been the opera house's patron, he had never seen Raoul even remotely inebriated.

Until tonight of course. It explained the odd shuffling he had heard in conjunction to Christine's calls. How the blond had even managed a shuffle was a mystery considering how he was leaning against the wall, legs threatening to give way beneath him.

Christine grinned outright. "I believe," she tilted her head in consideration, "it was a matter of pride."

Erik could tell she was about to laugh outright. Waiting for her to reveal the joke, he remained silent.

"Buquet challenged him."

"Buquet?" He hardly believed the chief stagehand would do such a thing unprompted. Christine, the little imp, was more resourceful than he had initially given her credit if she had manipulated not only Raoul, which Erik already knew her to be quite accomplished at, but also Buquet.

"It required a bottle of wine, but he rather gladly did as I requested," she amended, "suggested." She finally did give in and giggle. Erik was tempted to ask how she had procured a bottle of wine considering how strict Madame Giry was about the ballet girls and alcohol, but she continued even more gleefully, "I believe he called Raoul _mademoiselle_." The statement was punctuated with another laugh, stifled behind her hands. "His face turned a curious shade of red at that."

Erik glanced at Raoul again. The blond, still leaning quite heavily against the wall, stared up at the candleholder nearby. He reached up mesmerized, missed, then slid to the floor as his knees buckled at the slight shift of weight. He stared up at the candleholder in confusion, and Erik could just imagine him wondering how the fixture had managed to get so far from him. Shrugging, Raoul looked at the floor and decided that it was the perfect place to lie down, which he promptly did by simply tilting over.

"He's…"

"A quiet drunk," Erik supplied. Raoul was always so loud, always the center of attention; Erik had been rather convinced that an inebriated Raoul would only be even louder, maybe even ostentatious.

She approached Raoul to check on him. Contemplatively, she replied, "Not quite."

"Christine?" Raoul responded to her voice. Seeing her foot nearby, he grabbed it, surprised at himself when he managed to do so on the first try. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, "I wish I had known about your Papa." He sniffled loudly, face upturned toward her. Erik nearly rolled his eyes to see that his eyes were even tearing. "He was such a good man."

"Maudlin." Christine decided as she crouched beside him in order to remove his hand from her ankle. To Raoul, she said gently, "It is quite fine, Raoul."

"No," he prolonged the vowel. Shaking his head firmly, he immediately regretted it when the hallway skewed and blurred before settling – still slightly at an angle due to his position on the floor but at least clearer. It took a second before he could continue, "I was not able to say goodbye."

"He," she smiled sadly at him before brushing his hair from his face, "he knew how much you cared for him."

"But…" Raoul pouted in protest.

Snapping out of the memories of her father he had evoked, she changed the subject abruptly, "I've brought you to Erik."

"Hnh?" Raoul's eyes slid shut.

"Do you remember him?" She motioned for Erik to come closer, which he did rather reluctantly. While he did not want to miss seeing the normally composed man – at least when he was around Erik, he was composed – he was wary of what Christine hoped to accomplish by doing this. If he misstepped now when Raoul was so vulnerable, certainly both Christine _and _Raoul would never forgive him and it would ruin what little consideration he had managed to cultivate. He was not prepared to sabotage himself, and testing his resolve was not a thing he wanted to attempt at the moment. Had he wanted to simply take the viscount, he would have; but, then that would ruin his opera house, his livelihood, and the glory he received watching Christine soar upon that stage singing words that he had given her. He was accomplishing his goals, the events falling into place. This, too, would happen given time. And caution.

Raoul finally let go of Christine when he saw the movement. He tilted his head at what had to be an awkward angle and squinted at him. "Hmm." Frowning, he struggled to sit up. Christine helped him, or at least attempted to before she almost fell by his weight. Erik pulled her away. Bending, he straightened Raoul so that he could sit straight; there was little chance that the viscount would be able to stand. Erik's lip curled in disgust, smelling Raoul's alcohol-laden breath.

"Vicomte."

Raoul grabbed the collar of his shirt and jerked him forward. It was only surprise that allowed him to be manhandled. He tried to pull away but Raoul had a surprisingly firm grip on him. Taking advantage of him was looking more and more appealing, but Raoul simply scrutinized both his mask and his face. For a moment, he looked frighteningly alert, eyes clear, fully aware of just who he was holding and what he was doing. It almost made Erik hope before the moment passed, and Raoul pulled back suddenly, still refusing to relinquish his hold and eyes half-lidded once more.

"I know you."

Erik tried harder to dislodge him, because Raoul's knuckles were brushing against his throat almost tantalizingly so. Raoul held on tighter.

"Christine." Erik's voice dropped in warning, angry with her for putting him in this current predicament. With silence as his response, he glanced over his shoulder only to find that she was gone.

Raoul sighed suddenly and his head dropped forward. They were too close however and his forehead simply hit Erik's temple, nearly dislodging his mask. "'m sorry." He mumbled and it took all of Erik's will not to jerk away from the warm breath that teased his cheek and neck. He scoffed, not quite able to speak past the lump that had somehow formed in his throat. He had never been this close to Raoul before, at least not without them arguing or that one time he had been ill – but he couldn't properly remember that one occasion so it hardly counted.

He wondered for a moment when Raoul seemed content to remain against him, if the younger man had fallen asleep. Erik cleared his throat and muttered, "Not more sorry than I am currently." But he didn't try to move him just yet even as awkward as their position was. He was bent on one knee, leaning forward. One arm was braced against the wall because even though Raoul was sitting down, legs bent and back against the wall, his weight was half on him. Raoul's hands were still firmly gripping his collar, though that grip was finally loosening.

"I did not know you loved her," Raoul said suddenly, as though there had not been several minutes of silence that punctuated their conversation.

Erik replied, only because he was certain Raoul really would not remember anything he said, "I do not."

Raoul spoke over his admission though, stating quite vehemently. "Do not hate me." With effort, he leaned back so that he could properly pout at him before dropping forward again, this time his cheek pressed to the unmasked side of Erik's face. Erik froze then, held his breath.

"I do not think I like the idea of you hating me." Raoul mumbled, and then continued to mumble something else before slumping down further into an unconscious heap onto his leg and arm. He would have slid all the way to the ground had Erik not moved to support him.

It took several minutes of serious internal debate, during which time he cursed himself but mostly cursed Christine, before he adjusted Raoul and hefted him over one shoulder.

"Home," he said aloud, convincing himself that he had come to the correct conclusion. "You need to be returned home." _And away from me right now_ went unsaid but was quite clear in his mind.

o.o.o.o

End chapter

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: Honestly, Conspiracy was supposed to be a oneshot instead of another series of vignettes, drabbles, and the like, but then this idea came up and I really do like matchmaker!Christine too much. I actually just like drunk!Raoul apparently. Maybe I should make up a drunk!Erik vignette as well. But I imagine Erik being quite the violent drunk. Erik should've just taken advantage of him. I mean even Imaginary Friends!Erik stole a kiss from Raoul.


	3. A Gift

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
Summary: Some misunderstandings don't need to be orchestrated for a favourable outcome to occur.  
Warning(s): slash   
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul, implied Christine/OMC  
Word Count: 3,813

A/N: It's been a while and this chapter has been on my computer for quite some time.  
Story note: It seems as though the core of Erik's and Raoul's relationship will always be misunderstanding.

o.o.o.o

Conspiracies  
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Chapter 03 – A Gift

o.o.o.o

"Christine, please." His voice was clearly plaintive. Raoul was glad to have given her his jacket, even moreso now since it meant he had something with which to pull her back. "Come away from there."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, she made show to adjust the too large jacket around her shoulders before eventually stepping away from the ledge, much to his relief. Christine always thought that he was more edgy than need be on the rooftop. It was hardly surprising though, considering the fact that they could ostensibly be trapped here with little effort. That was, however, no longer a concern and Raoul's tension was more residual than anything. Now, if only she could convince him of that fact.

The waning sun was simply too beautiful to ignore, and Raoul had been easily cajoled into accompanying her. His persistent concern for her well-being, rather, his _preoccupation_ with her supposed, ghostly suitor was enough of a reason that upon hearing her desire to go, he had demanded that she be escorted. It would have been annoying since she had been to the roof more times than Raoul had been to the opera house save for the fact that now that his enmity towards the ghost had taken an interesting turn, his company was more than pleasant. Additionally, the unexpected chill of the evening air was being held at bay by his jacket.

She glanced at him. His hair, highlighted faintly reddish from the low-hanging sun, was held back rather messily and his white shirt was rumpled from a full day's wear. He was currently scanning the rooftop, completely ignoring the view of the city at their feet. The view was always the reason why she came. There was something about the vastness of space that allowed her to breathe a little easier, that let her think.

Clearing her throat, she began to walk the perimeter of the roof. Raoul fell into step beside her, eyes still constantly focused on their surroundings.

She could only stand so much of his hyper-vigilance. He was beginning to distract her from more important thoughts. "Perhaps you should invite him to dinner," she suggested nonchalantly, focused more on fingering the bright broach on her dress.

"Pardon?" He finally stopped searching for the man that might not be there. "Dinner? The man has abused any shred of kindness I have shown him." It did make her smile that he needn't a clarification about whom she was speaking. "I will not _invite him to dinner_," he finished in a mock falsetto.

Christine lazily glared at him. His refusal had been given much too hastily to be believed. "He has been trying to extend a truce. He is simply unaccustomed doing so." When silence was her response, she added, "You must admit he has been making an effort."

Raoul looked away, retorting, "Effort from a madman is no better than a natural disaster sweeping through the opera house." He added grudgingly, "So, yes, he has been trying."

She smiled, glancing down at the broach again. "Well, love is very much like a natural disaster. Unexpected, consuming."

"And we know that his love for you has been the cause of many a ruinous aftermaths," Raoul stated firmly, attention towards one of the statues. He was certain he saw movement of some sort. Years ago, he might have simply decided it was his imagination and ignore it, but not any longer. He finished distractedly, "Which is why until he can become a reasonable individual and accept that you do not love him, we shall always be at odds."

She huffed, "Oh, Raoul." She moved to place her hand on his arm when the broach slipped from her dress, dropping to the floor. "Oops."

Raoul turned then, bending down on one knee to pick it up. He paused where he was to look at it, a bright, jeweled bird sitting upon a branch. Turning the broach over in his hand, he asked, "Where did you get this?"

Her answer was a shriek. Raoul hadn't any time to react before the Punjab lasso fell around his neck. Reflex borne of experience had him grabbing the noose before it tightened flush against his skin. Still, the force with which it was pulled threw Raoul several feet back. He slammed against the rooftop, the air expelled from his lungs upon impact.

"Erik!" Christine shouted, reaching for Raoul. His jacket fell to the floor; the broach similarly forgotten on the roof as she chased after him. She only caught air as Raoul was dragged kicking and screaming on his back clear across the rooftop.

Raoul could hardly focus in his struggle. He only distantly saw Christine moving further and further away from him. Her yells were drowned out by the rush of clothes-against-cement that filled his ears. And suddenly, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. He still kicked out, trying to get his feet beneath him though he failed. All he managed to do was turn on his side.

No longer as concerned with choking as he knew he should be, he gingerly pulled his hands free from within the noose. Staring at the swollen redness of his fingers, he flexed them tentatively with a wince.

Christine's voice cut through the sudden silence. "Erik, stop it!"

Raoul looked up abruptly, just barely remembering himself. He was roughly pushed onto his back again, an impact that made him groan loudly and cringe at the contact. Through the burning on his back, he distantly felt a hand grab him by the front of his shirt before he was lifted and further slammed against the base of one of the statues. He let out a second groan as the back of his head slammed against it, too.

Black dots impeded his sight of Christine racing towards him, but it did little to block out the scowl and porcelain mask that seemed to hover before his face before disappearing again. He let out a short puff of air, all that he could manage of a laugh. Despite all his wariness, Erik still somehow managed to surprise him.

"He was picking up my broach." Christine sounded much closer now, breathless.

There was a pregnant silence, during which Raoul worried about his lack of ability to focus still. He tried to grab the hand on his chest and missed. He looked down to see the black, gloved hand and tried again, just barely managing it. He grasped it, wondering at its presence there. His focus drifted from the hand to the arm and eventually up at the man. Meeting green eyes, Raoul breathed out, "oh" remembering where he was. His lip quirked into a lopsided smile, all he could manage at the moment. Nothing, not even ire, came to mind, and truth was he felt a sudden urge to be particularly contrary in the face of this new development. He was the only one being caught off guard at every interaction; it would only be fair to return the favour. So, in the most even voice he could manage, he said, "I cordially extend a dinner invitation to you."

The hand on his shirt disappeared quickly, slipping from his grasp as well; with it, the only reason Raoul had stayed upright. His knees buckled, dropping him onto his hands and knees. It was not too great of a change in Raoul's current state. The disorientation from standing to kneeling remained; it did nothing to still the heaving of the rooftop. Naught but the view changed. At the very least, the pressure was no longer on his back. He turned his head to the side to see if the roof was truly moving but instead caught sight of the ghost falter where he towered over him before fleeing in a swish of his black cloak.

Christine was at his side a moment later. She pulled her skirts about her as she crouched and Raoul could not help but chuckle when he was shown her stockinged leg. It was so different than when she was dancing; quite scandalous truly, this vantage point was proving to be. He knew he should have averted his eyes, but the moment had passed all too quickly. When he felt her hands upon his neck though, he batted them away immediately, thinking of propriety.

"Raoul."

He only stopped upon hearing the distress in her voice.

"Christine?" He questioned, though he was surprised to hear it come out as more of a mumbled jumble of consonants.

He managed to still himself when Christine once again touched his neck. At least he managed to suppress batting her hands away, he squirmed though, ready to tell Christine that perhaps they should keep a safe distance apart now that they were no longer attached. Only once the noose was pulled free from around his neck did realization dawn upon him what she had been attempting to accomplish. Before he could thank her, her hands were upon him once more, this time on his shoulders. He stared blankly up at her, then beyond her as he was distracted by a lone dark cloud smeared across the sky in the early twilight.

She cradled his face then, forcing him to focus on her. "-oul! Raoul!" From her expression, he had a feeling that she had been calling his name several times already. Her hand was upon his shoulder again, and he finally took the encouragement to sit up with some effort. He winced when he leaned against the wall behind him.

"Are you well?" She asked, placing a hand on his forehead.

He nodded and immediately wished he had not. "A slight soreness," he responded and was well pleased to find that it came out relatively clear. He focused upon her eyes to keep the world steady and in doing so, it seemed as though his mind seemed to steady slightly as well. He cleared his throat. "You needn't worry."

She looked rather unconvinced.

So, he busied himself by adjusting his askew shirt but winced at the small movement, winced as the world abruptly tilted to the left. He hoped to have covered that particular wave of unease with movement and was glad to find that he, in fact, could stand, albeit with a little steadying from Christine. She gasped when he took a faltering step away from her, his hand braced against the wall for support. He wondered briefly why she would have occasion to gasp when it was he who feared that falling was rather eminent.

"-oul."

He frowned to think that he had once again been too preoccupied with his own thoughts and ailments to even hear Christine calling to him.

"Raoul," she called again, touching his back. A firebrand of pain struck him, his body bending forward of its own accord. The back of his shirt was in tatters, blood already seeping into the white strips of material, and though she could not currently see it, Christine was certain the scrapes went down further than his back if the state of his trousers were any indication.

Raoul grimaced, eyes squeezed shut as he focused on simply breathing through the pain. When he opened them, he wondered at seeing the rooftop so soon again before he realized that he was, in fact, bent forward. Hands braced on his knees, he worried that it would be far too easy to simply drop to his knees and sleep right then. Oh, but the ground would be too hard and the temperature too bracing.

"… -ch blood." Christine placed a hand on his shoulder, thankfully in a place that bore little to no injury. She helped him stand once more although she herself seemed to hesitate upon whether his standing was the best course of action.

Despite not knowing what she had said, Raoul could easily hear her concern. "I need only sleep," he insisted as he took a step forward. "It is simple bruising."

"It is _not_ simple bruising," Christine stated, irked, but Raoul was more cheered by the fact that he had heard her entire sentence. In his cheer, he nearly missed her next sentence, "We must call for the doctor. Come." She ducked beneath his arm and led him haltingly towards the exit. He shuffled alongside her, following her lead.

So focused on placing one foot firmly in front of the other and breathing through the pain, it was only when they were in Christine's room with her coaxing him to lie down that he came to his senses. "This isn't a carriage, Christine." He flopped on his stomach with a groan. Certainly, he had told her that he wished to return home. Although, where else would he have wanted to go? Had he needed to voice such a request? "This bed is uncommonly comfortable," he voiced without realizing he did so.

Christine's hand was on his forehead again, which was quite a feat considering the fact that he wanted nothing more than to bury his face into her bedding. "How hard did you hit your head?"

He was certain that she continued speaking afterwards, but he found himself wondering why she would not believe him when he said he was well enough to ride home. His head was not that bothersome. The black dots that danced through his vision had slowed considerably, something from the frenzy of a jig to that of a waltz. Moreover, if he focused on the pain from his back, he could easily forget the pounding in his head that kept rhythm to it all. The only problem was that he did not wish to focus on his back. Doing so caused sharp stabs of pain to travel up his spine.

The sound of the door creaking open compelled him to make the effort to raise his head. It was the doctor, but looking over his shoulder took too much effort and caused the pain on his back to increase, so he simply let his head drop back onto the bed. It smelled like Christine. Too much perfume actually. He remembered a time when he would have relished to be in this bed. Certainly not in this circumstance, but even so, that desire had faded. There were simply too many frills upon it.

There was a hand upon him, lifting him bodily so that he was properly laid on the bed instead of his legs hanging off the edge. Once situated, someone began to pull his shirt away from his back.

"… as you can see. And I believe he hit his head." Christine was talking again.

He doubted it was important enough to fret about though. _He _knew that he had hit his head and that was hardly news at all. Next thing she would be saying was that he had bruises upon his neck and that the ghost had accosted him. Perhaps next, they would speak upon the fact that they were in the opera house or that it was nighttime. He grinned to himself.

His attention was quite caught though when he heard the distinct sound of cloth being torn. He shifted indignantly when he realized that the doctor had cut through his shirt. Seeing the fabric placed on the bed stand, he was quelled to see that it must have already been in tatters. Rags, indeed, the rather drawn out rip he had heard now seemed much exaggerated. How the mess of red and white material had stayed on him at all seemed very much a mystery, what with most of the back missing. He briefly wondered what could have happened to cause such a state of his clothing before he remembered the ghost's interference. The doctor rather rudely forced him to sit up long enough to lean him just so to remove his trousers as well until he was fully naked. Raoul did not question the man's request, did not have the presence of mind to, although he did make certain that Christine had long since vacated the room.

He was given a draught to drink before he was on his stomach once more, and the doctor rubbed ointment on his back. The analgesic properties quickly dulled the pain of the process and he found himself lulled to slumber. Even his head seemed to throb less so; he could not however, seem to focus on anything beyond the comfortable bed upon which he laid. He missed his own bed. Though sometimes lonely at home, he always had extra pillows and blankets. He could not burrow here. In fact, he wasn't sure he could move his arms and legs if he wanted to. There were voices that sounded suspiciously like the managers in the room, and he wanted to be angry with them intruding his privacy in such a manner, but the medicine given to him must have stopped working because the darkness before his sight began creeping in again.

When next he opened his eyes, he was cast in darkness. Only a single candle by his bed had been lit and he wondered who had kept vigil at his bedside. Surely something had woken him, and as though on cue, he heard a footstep approach his bed.

"Doctor?" He tried to move his head, but his body felt much too weighted. Taking in a breath seemed too much an effort at this point, but thankfully, it only showed how little he felt of the injuries he knew he had sustained. Now that he was in clear enough mind to wonder how badly he had been injured given Christine's reaction to him, his body was entirely too numb to ascertain for himself.

"Christine…?" he mumbled, already tired from what little exertion it had taken to speak, "I am not decent." And truly, he laid atop the covers of Christine's bed completely bare.

"Indeed, you are not," a familiar voice spoke.

This time Raoul forced protesting muscles to move; adrenaline lent him strength. Luckily, he did not have to look very far because the opera ghost stood near. He was cast in shadow, the meager candle shedding only enough to outline his form. Still, his voice was simply unmistakable and his natural ability to loom was quite telling as well. Raoul exhaled forcefully as he rested his head down once more. The ghost moved to accommodate him, keeping in his line of sight.

Raoul glared the best he could. "Have you come to finish the job?" he spat out. However, it came out much too breathless.

He caught sight of his tattered shirt when Erik lifted it up to examine it. He attempted to raise an arm to grab it, but only managed the slightest of movements. Covering himself at this point seemed quite impossible, and he felt more vulnerable now, knowing that the ghost instead of the doctor or even Christine was present. He was glad for the darkness for he felt his face heat in response to his embarrassment, to his obvious weakness.

Once again, he received no answer to his query. He cursed when despite himself, he found him falling asleep in the quiet that followed. After his eyes had fallen shut of their own accord the third time, he cleared his throat. "I believe, Monsieur." Even his voice was suffering from fatigue; it was deeper and quieter than he wished, "This time it is you who are staring."

Instead of the denial he expected, the ghost only muttered, "That I am." That low voice did strange things to Raoul's stomach. He felt a flush of heat run through him and suddenly, he was too awake, too aware of his current situation, alone in the dark with Erik.

"Why," Raoul could not seem to rid himself of the breathless state of his speech. "Why are you here?"

"I have come to return your jacket," Erik replied.

Raoul was not sure if he believed him, but he neither had the energy to check nor argue with him. He jerked when he felt a cool hand on his back. The muscles spasmed beneath the unexpected touch and he could not refrain from a sharp intake of breath, which he subsequently released much more shakily than he would have preferred. Erik trailed his fingers up his back, feather touch climbing up the younger man's spine. His back arched in response.

"The doctor," Erik's voice did not raise above a low murmur. "What does he say?"

Distantly, he knew his accustomed response would be a snide remark such as one in relation to the ghost's penchant for eavesdropping upon all conversations within the opera house. Raoul merely shuddered, eyes fluttering shut, when Erik's touch pressed harder upon him when it reached his shoulders. His hair was brushed aside most gently and then the touch became tentative, prodding at the discoloration he knew to be on his neck.

"Well?" Erik prompted. None of his usual brusqueness was present though.

Remembering himself, Raoul replied, "I know not." And he was surprised to realize that he hardly remembered a thing when the doctor had been with him.

"Your back is littered with lacerations." Erik's hand strayed from his neck once more and Raoul could focus upon nothing but his touch. How Raoul wished that the touch repulsed him, especially when it neither slowed nor halted upon reaching his lower back. "And much lower." It might have been his own imagination but the ghost's voice sounded just as breathless as his own had been. The anticipation of whether Erik would continue the exploration of his wounds below his waist had Raoul holding his breath. He shivered when that cold hand settled upon his hip instead.

"You will be forced to sleep on your stomach," Erik continued, seemingly unheeding of the incoherent groan that came from Raoul, stifled by him burying his face into the bed. "You are not returning to your estate tonight?" It was less than a question coming from the ghost's mouth.

Still, Raoul responded with a rather pitiful "Mm." He started when despite how cold the man's hand was, his body was all warmth when he leaned down. The bed dipped with the extra weight and Erik gave a whispered order, "Sleep then." The exhale caressed his jaw and Raoul gave into the temptation to turn his head. Sure enough, Erik was quite close, enough that the he blocked what little candlelight there was, enough that it took little imagination for Raoul to imagine what his entire weight upon the bed with him might be like. Despite the darkness, he was certain they had caught each other's eyes. He found he could move his hand, but when he was close enough to touch the man, Erik straightened abruptly though his hand remained where it was on his hip.

His voice was rough when he stated, "You will be undisturbed."

o.o.o.o

End ficlet

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: Raoul refused to get ill, so the only way nursemaid!Erik could show up was through force. Although he's not really nursemaid!Erik so much here. I must've just wanted him naked and vulnerable then. ;3 Not sure why I'm thoroughly convinced Erik's eyes are green. They're yellow in Leroux. I know that, but still. I guess I'm partial to ALW-esque characteristics at times.

As to what the 'gift' in this chapter is, it's all rather vague. There is of course Christine's broach, which was a gift given to her. Then there's the gift of the jacket and Erik's near gentleness at the end; he's apologetic in his own way, which, knowing Erik isn't something he'll do for anyone.


	4. What We Lose

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
Summary: Some misunderstandings don't need to be orchestrated for a favourable outcome to occur.  
Warning(s): slash, nudity (nondescriptive nudity)  
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul  
Word Count: 2,931

A/N: It's like I'm updating all the fics but the ones I _should_ be updating.  
Story note: It had to be a continuation of the last chapter because the world needs more naked!Raoul in the world. It's still UST though. Who am I kidding? This whole series is UST. On a more important note, this chapter took a most interesting and unexpected turn. And this might be a couple of chapters that are direct correlation to each other (at least time-wise).

o.o.o.o

Conspiracies  
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Chapter 04 – What We Lose

o.o.o.o

Erik quickly made his way through the tunnels, certain that if he hurried he could make it home, shower, eat, and change clothes – not in that particular order – and return before the doctor arrived. Christine had rather forced him to end his day-long vigil over the unconscious blond; he had done so reluctantly because of his promise to watch over Raoul and keep anyone from disturbing his rest. However, the fact that his charge had barely stayed awake for more than a couple of minutes at a time during that entire day had been disturbing enough to make him agree that a doctor's visit was necessary.

The previous day had been the most time he had ever spent with Raoul uninterrupted; it had been pleasant. Admittedly, the obstinate blond had been unconscious for nearly all of that time, but he counted it as one of their better interactions. He'd had little else to do but watch and care for his wounds; he had quickly come to the conclusion that watching without the obstruction of clothes was a much more satisfying experience than he would have ever imagined. Surely, it had been difficult and a strain on his self-control, but with Christine knocking on the door every free moment she had to ensure that Raoul's honour remained intact, he had hardly been unchaperoned.

What served as more of a prevention though was the few times that Raoul had woken from his rather fitful slumber. He had always looked up to see Erik with something akin to relief. It had made him pause in wonder the first time he saw that expression. It, of course, could simply have been due to the head injury, but it made him want more than a stolen moment. It kept Erik's baser instincts at bay for at least until Raoul was better. He did not doubt that what he planned, a series of events he had reviewed in his mind hundreds of times by now, would be that much more pleasurable with Raoul pliant and begging for it beneath him.

He was just returning when he heard the shouting. When he realized the noise was originating from Christine's room, he broke into a full sprint. Worse still, one of the voices was definitely Raoul's. Only when he was closer could he pick out the managers' and the doctor's voices as well. He skidded to stop at the mirror, nearly running into it in his haste. At the same time, Christine entered the room hurriedly, not caring at all if Raoul was naked or not.

As it so happened, the viscount was quite awake and still naked. He clutched a blanket to himself, maintaining some sort of modesty. He even blushed when he saw her enter the room. However, something was terribly wrong. Raoul was crouched on the bed, pressed against the headboard sideways awkwardly in an effort to avoid the lacerations on his back. His hair was disheveled and shoulders hunched inwards. He was doing much of the shouting that Erik had heard upon his approach.

The managers were at the foot of the bed, looking at each other in clear alarm. They had frozen on the spot, hoping to avoid antagonizing their patron. Despite Mlle Daae's reports, they had been worried that the opera ghost had killed him in the day that no one had been able to enter the room. Now, they hardly knew what to think.

The doctor was closest to the cowering blond, doing a poor job of calming him.

"Why am I naked?" Raoul's voice shook. It was obvious that it was not the first time that he had asked the question.

"Please sit," the doctor said. "We'll explain…"

Raoul glared at him, actually baring his teeth. "You will explain right now." For a moment, he actually sounded like the man he had once been, although the image he presented proved the contrary.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," Andre tried next, hands up in a motion to placate him.

"Who?" Raoul's voice raised a pitch. "Who are you?" He scanned the room, not really seeing anyone, rather searching for a way out, and Erik was tempted to offer an escape. He disliked the fact that there were others in the room when Raoul was naked. He disliked it even more that his viscount was distressed. The only reason he did not come to his rescue was because in the blond's current state, Erik doubted he would do anything but drive him further into hysterics with his sudden appearance.

Firmin finally asked the obvious question, "What is happening, doctor?"

"Monsieur," the doctor ignored his question, paying heed only to his patient, "Please, calm yourself. You are safe here."

Raoul did not look the slightest bit convinced. "Just answer me."

"You were in a bit of a tussle where you injured your back and hit your head," the doctor explained, keeping his voice even and soothing. "We had to remove your clothing in order to treat you. Do you remember any of that?"

In response, he flexed his shoulders, which pulled at the wounds on his back. Wincing slightly, he looked around the room again. The doctor did not look deranged in any manner. The managers appeared to be more frightened than even himself, and the woman who had entered was looking at him, concern apparent in her large, brown eyes. Slowly, Raoul shook his head in response, eyes going distant for a moment as he attempted to think back to before he had been woken.

"What do you remember?" the doctor pressed further.

The entire room was silent; all eyes were on him.

"I-" he stopped suddenly, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. Shutting his eyes, he reached up with one hand to cover his eyes. It did little to hide the obvious frown; it did even less to hide the fact that he was squeezing his eyes shut, brows furrowing. Shaking his head, he leaned against the headboard only to wince when he aggravated his wounds. He listlessly dropped his hand from his face. "I-I can't remember. _Anything._" He looked at each of them desperately, "Who am I?"

In his distraction, the doctor had moved close enough to gently guide him to sit properly on the bed. He spoke softly to him, "You were in an accident."

"And that is why I'm naked?" he repeated in a small voice, still clutching the blanket to himself.

The doctor supplied instead, "That is why you cannot remember."

Erik nearly slammed his fist into the mirror. What had he done to Raoul? He ducked his head, pushing against the glass. Perhaps he could wake himself from this dream. He had been making progress. If only he hadn't arrived at such a poor time on the rooftop, but seeing Raoul on his knee before Christine like that, it had brought back quite unwanted memories and all he had known for that time had been anger. He had forgotten all the time Christine had spent convincing him to pursue the viscount, convincing him that she and Raoul were simply close friends. He had forgotten Raoul's blessings when Christine had declared she would be searching for a proper suitor. He had simply forgotten, and it was some sort of cosmic, poetic justice that it was now Raoul's turn to forget.

A couple of feet away, the managers were heatedly speaking in hushed tones to each other. They were doing a poor job at keeping the conversation low enough to keep from the ghost hearing though.

"He has _amnesia_?" Andre said in disbelief.

"Apparently, he has," Firmin said, hand rubbing his chin as he was lost in thought.

"What should we do?" Andre kept looking between Firmin and the viscount, who the doctor was examining. Christine, who had quietly made her way to his side, watched him worriedly.

"We cannot let him leave," Firmin said firmly, "Not like this."

"I doubt that will be difficult," Andre retorted. "He does not know where he lives."

The other man grunted. "You do not understand. If we cannot even keep our patron safe from the opera ghost, then how will anyone else believe they will be safe? And surely, we will soon be performing to an empty house."

After the barrage of questions, what he remembered and how he felt, from the doctor, Raoul noticed Christine. He looked up at her with wide eyes before quickly double checking to make sure everything that needed to be covered was. He tentatively offered, "Hello?"

She gave him a weak smile. "Hello, Raoul," she said the name with so much emotion that he was taken aback.

"Raoul?" He repeated. The name sounded hollow when he said it though.

"Yes," she moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"That," he looked from the doctor to Christine, "is my name."

Both nodded. She had her lips pressed tightly together before breaking down and saying, "I am so terribly sorry."

"I was," he hesitated, grimacing, "fighting _you_?" He wondered what sort of man would fight such a delicate looking woman – and then, lose.

"Oh, no. I could have," she glanced at the mirror knowingly, "prevented the fight from having occurred. You were simply retrieving something for me."

"Then, Mademoiselle," he struggled to lean forward. Once he succeeded breathless though he was, he took her hand in his and said, "There is nothing to be sorry for. My only hope is that I was able to retrieve that item for you."

She spared him one weighted glance of fondness before looking away from him again. Her eyes fixed on the mirror when she answered, "You did." Her voice had hardened.

Raoul followed her line of sight and looked toward the mirror as well, but instead, he took the time to truly look at the decorations and paraphernalia lying about. He shifted, trying to sit up without leaning on his back, but he was suddenly so tired that he did not think he would be able to stay awake much less stay upright. He felt his eyes closing of their own accord, but he refused to give in. If the doctor was telling the truth, he had been asleep for an entire day; he had no right to be sleepy. In an effort to stay awake, he inquired, "Is this your room?"

"It would be best you do not strain yourself so," the doctor interjected, easily seeing his struggle. He coaxed him to lie down on his side and Raoul hadn't the energy to argue the contrary. It sounded like a very good idea regardless. He could conserve more energy by lying down and therefore have a longer conversation.

She tore her gaze away to meet his eyes when she nodded.

He was just settling under the blanket, searching for a position that hurt the least, when he gave a breathless laugh. "Good, good. I had feared that it was, in fact, mine."

Christine could not help the sudden laughter that bubbled out of her. She stood up, straightening her skirts. Rubbing his arm affectionately, she said much more cheerfully than before, "It seemed only fair to let you use my room for all that you've done for me."

"We know each other well, then?" Raoul asked tentatively, looking at the spot she had touched him. He quickly stifled a yawn by pressing his mouth shut; his eyes still watered.

"Yes." She, herself, looked lost in her memories for a moment. "Very well."

The second yawn came upon him much quicker and he was unable to hide that one. "I apologize for my rudeness," he said immediately after.

"No, it is quite all right," Christine was quick to assure him. "Perhaps it is best you sleep some more."

The doctor nodded to her before he said to him, "You _should_ rest."

"No, Monsieur," Raoul shook his head firmly.

"What?" The managers said in unison, having heard his refusal. They moved closer.

Raoul looked at them in confusion before explaining, "Would it not be best to vacate the room so that the Mademoiselle may have it back?"

"No!" This time, they all had replied in chorus.

Only the doctor had said the word at a reasonable volume. He explained, "It is best we do not move you."

"You must listen to the doctor," Andre chimed in.

Even Christine was nodding.

"How long is this amnesia going to last?" Firmin asked.

They all stared at the doctor. Even Raoul momentarily stopped his refusal to turn his attention to the elderly gentleman, curious to hear the answer.

"Amnesia cases are quite difficult to predict," he answered as honestly as he could. "The knock to his head had not been my biggest concern at the time."

"Well, it should have been," Andre scoffed.

"He had retained consciousness. _That _was a good sign," the doctor was obviously becoming exasperated. "This amnesia is rather unexpected, but considering the circumstances, his memory should come back to him with more rest."

"He cannot be moved," Firmin stated again, looking for agreement. Before the doctor could respond, he had already turned to Raoul saying, "You cannot be moved."

Raoul frowned. "But the Mademoiselle…"

"Daae," Christine supplied.

"But Mademoiselle Daae," he amended, "should have her room."

"No! You are under our care and the doctor has stated that you need more rest," Andre insisted. Before Raoul could even insist again, the manager began to shoo the others out. "Come, come." He grabbed the doctor's arm, hissing, "We need to talk." Firmin sidled up to the doctor's other side and the managers left, practically dragging the doctor out with him.

Erik heard the stray comment from Firmin. "We will keep him here if we have to lock him in." He completely agreed with the sentiment. Raoul should not be allowed to leave the opera house in his current state. The moment the door closed, he immediately slid the mirror aside. Raoul was confused as to what had just happened and so focused on the others that he did not notice. Christine did though.

"What did you do?" She placed her hands on her hips, scowling at the masked man.

Raoul looked from the door to her in confusion before he spotted the other man. He stated just as Erik was beginning to defend himself.

"I know you."

"He was well when I…" Erik stopped. "What did you say?"

Raoul moved to sit up again, waving off the help Christine offered. His eyes were trained on the masked man. "I remember seeing you."

She stared between them in shock before slowly grinning. Erik thought it was a downright evil smirk and braced himself for whatever new scheme she had just thought up.

"I thought it was a dream," the viscount continued, lost in his own thoughts. He stared at the porcelain mask.

"No," Erik moved closer to the bed. "It was not a dream."

"You were touching me." Raoul reached down to place one hand on his hip.

Christine raised an eyebrow at the opera ghost, who immediately glared at her.

Raoul was too focused on remembering to see their silent exchange. "The pain on my back was soothed. Ointment?"

Erik looked at Christine pointedly, vindicated that he had not said anything damning. He was close enough however that Raoul reached out and grabbed his hand. It was startling enough to pull him away from his staring contest with her. He watched mutely as Raoul inspected his hand, as though the answers to his sudden memory loss were somehow there written on his palm.

He swallowed with some difficulty. "Yes, the doctor left some."

The younger man looked up at his response and their eyes met. For a long moment, Erik could not breathe because he could see no disdain in this Raoul's eyes. There was no malice or annoyance. Their weighted and convoluted past had completely vanished and Raoul was looking up at him with such tentative hope, with such obvious pleasure to see him, with… with _relief_. He shut his eyes then; so, it _had_ been the head wound.

Raoul's grip on his hand tightened, urging him to open his eyes again, and Erik could not deny him that small act. Worry, Raoul was worried about him when he could not even remember his own name. He realized suddenly that it was not the first time that he had seen such an expression on him.

Christine cleared her throat and both men's heads snapped up. Erik had completely forgotten that she was still present. She smirked at them. "Well, I shall leave you gentlemen alone. Surely, the managers would like to speak with me." To Raoul she said in a stage whisper, "You are in good hands."

He blushed, realizing that he was still holding Erik's hand. He let go, much to Erik's dismay, before saying meekly, "Thank you for the use of your room."

Erik remained silent, knowing she would be back again soon enough. He watched her until the door had shut. Looking down, he realized that Raoul had been watching him the entire time. "I-"

Raoul yawned again despite his best efforts. He had a lot to ask the man with him, but the pull of sleep was proving too much for him. "You are not leaving, are you?" He moved to lie back down, this time on his stomach. The blanket fell down to his waist, leaving a tantalizing view of the swell of his buttocks.

Erik shook his head vehemently. "No."

"Good," Raoul sighed, burrowing into the bed more. He muttered, "Because you promised."

o.o.o.o

End chapter

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: Worst time to fall asleep, Raoul! Worst. Ever. But, Erik's going to stay. XD

What? Amnesia!fic. I'm throwing really mean curveballs at you guys.


	5. An Opportunity

Title: Conspiracies  
#: 05. An Opportunity  
Author: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul  
Summary: Erik has inevitably hurt Raoul once more. Their current situation however seems to be nothing more than another opportunity for Erik to win him over.  
Warning(s): slash  
WordCount: 2,172  
Rating: T

A/N: Okay, so I figured it out… I'll call this the amnesia!arc. Just so it doesn't get out of control. This was supposed to be series of loosely oneshots not some random multi-chaptered fic nestled in oneshots.  
Storynote: This is why I was hoping to stick with vignettes or the like because I disappear completely every so often. :(

o.o.o.o

Erik woke with a crick in his neck and blue eyes fixed on him. He briefly wondered if it was as disconcerting for Raoul when he watched him sleep – that was assuming, however, that the viscount ever realized he was being watched while he slept.

Raoul sat in the very center of Christine's bed, knees drawn up to his chest and arms securely wrapped around them. He huddled there motionless with his chin resting on his knees, making himself as small as possible. He had succeeded, so much so that he was lost amongst the pillows and nearly swallowed whole in the sea of blankets. With an additional blanket draped over him, the only truly visible part of him was his face and wisps of blond hair that peeked out. He was frowning slightly, his brow drawn inward.

It did not take long for Erik to realize that he was not truly seeing anything; he was lost in his own thoughts. He looked too young then, ineffably sad and lost. Erik had hoped that when Raoul woke his memories would have returned to him, for both their sakes. The doctor had said all he needed was rest. There was little doubt in his mind though that the young man had not regained his past just yet. There was no accusatory glare or lecture-turned-argument impending.

This wasn't really Raoul. The blond was not this quiet nor so subdued. He was not this fragile. Yet, even as Erik chided himself for what his actions had done, he found that the _want_ was still present. Erik wanted him still. It seemed that it mattered little what state the viscount had to be in for Erik to want him. The truth was that it wasn't difficult to fall in love with the viscount. That had never been the problem; even when Erik had wanted to hate him, he had been unable to.

He wanted Raoul _with_ his memories to challenge, to affect, to have. He wanted to have succeeded in breaking those walls that separated them and force the proud viscount to admit that he'd wanted him this entire time – perhaps not the _entire _duration of their acquaintance, but longer than he'd been willing to admit. If need be, Erik wanted to force Raoul to understand that they could be more than enemies. He would revel in the opportunity to do so. In this state, it would only be a hollow victory if he did manage to convince Raoul to accept his affections. There was the even larger chance that once he regained his memories Raoul would only despise him more for having taken advantage of his weakness.

Erik knew that it was a risk he was willing to take. He was going to try because this well may be his only opportunity to have any type of intimacy with him.

It was obvious when Raoul finally focused on him. He blinked and attempted a small grin, just a slight quirk of his lips. The motion was so cautious that Erik was on his feet approaching the bed before he even consciously thought to move. And why? He had wanted to… to, what? Promise Raoul that he would regain every single memory back? Console him? Erik was unfamiliar with the proper methods of easing suffering. If he were more honest with himself, his first urge had been to shake the expression out of him. Violence had always worked for him in the past; it would probably work again. However, that particular reaction was what had also brought them to this point.

Raoul had tracked the movement, body neither tensing nor recoiling from his sudden motion. His eyes had only widened slightly, head tilting to the side in question. Erik closed the rest of the distance to the bed much more deliberately. He stood there, uncertain, staring at the blankets and the curve of Raoul's back.

"Does your back pain you?" Erik asked suddenly, remembering that Raoul's memory was not the only thing he had damaged with his impulsivity.

Raoul shook his head, stubbornly keeping his silence. More strands of blond hair fell about his face. Erik knew that if he wanted, he could brush them aside and Raoul would not protest. He stilled his hand, letting it trail through the excess blankets bunched around him instead. "Just," his voice seemed too loud in the silence, "inform me if you are in need of more ointment."

A brief nod was his only response. That penetrating blue gaze did not once leave his face and Erik remembered that this was a type of first meeting for them. He would be an oddity, nothing more than a freak in a cage again. The porcelain mask felt heavy and weighted as it pressed against his deformity. He wanted the normal rise of anger to build within him, perhaps even simple annoyance at being stared at, but the predictable emotions remained noticeably absent. Raoul's silent scrutiny made him anxious, a feeling with which he was only recently growing familiar.

Whom should the infamous opera ghost fear? Why should he worry or be anxious? Erik had learned not to fear anyone at a young age, to become that which was feared for his own survival. It had come as second nature; he hadn't much option with his visage. Once he had gained his freedom, he had gained confidence in his own abilities, in his invisibility, in the _power_of the outcast. He needn't worry for others nor fear their reproach. He needn't concern himself with their opinions. Even with Christine there had been no reason to worry.

Raoul had cast his certainty down and trampled upon it without even realizing. Before Erik had been able to retaliate, he had found his heart quickening for reasons other than desire. He found his hands sweating, his thoughts attempting to pander to Raoul's wishes. He disgusted himself, waiting expectantly for any sign of Raoul's approbation. He was the only person who Erik had ever hoped to impress.

With Christine, it had been completely different. She hadn't truly known him until after the viscount's arrival. Her own delusions had saved him from such anxiety. With Raoul, it was different. The blond knew about the ghost, about the man and the mask. There were no pretenses, only rumours, quite a deleterious enmity, and unpleasant impressions between them. The viscount was ever searching for more flaws and proof that he was the monster branded by all those around him. For all he wanted the man's attentions, Erik always felt as though he only saw the faults. More than his disfigurement, Raoul saw everything he failed to excel at and lacked.

This should have been the perfect opportunity then. There were no preconceived notions or enmity. Not only did Erik have his trust, he had him in a locked room naked. Erik had never understood chivalry, had found little use of it in his life, but he did understand boundaries. He too well understood the consequences of actions, of short-lived moments of bliss. He tugged the blanket at his fingers; it stayed in place save for revealing a part of Raoul's foot. Raoul looked up at him in guileless query.

Erik huffed a breath in response before taking a step away from the bed. Blue eyes followed the movement still, and he felt his mask all the more. Raoul seemed to have the innate ability to make his life difficult. Patience frayed from the silence and the raging indecision, he snapped, "Ask already."

Raoul jerked slightly in response, but still did not look frightened.

Erik held absolutely still, waiting for the question and wondering if he should answer with the truth.

"I-" Raoul started and immediately stopped. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself, shoulders drawn forward. Ducking his head for a moment, he hid his expression even though Erik had already seen enough. The masked man could not comprehend why an inquiry to his mask would cause so much distress. He tensed further; it would only do so if Raoul remembered something of their past. There was no way that he could have heard any rumours. The doors were locked and he had been present the entire duration.

When the blond finally raised his head, he let the blanket drop from his head. It caught on his shoulders, pale neck and his chest showing. Shivering, he pulled it tighter around himself. Haltingly, he asked, "Who are you to me?"

"A-" Erik replied with an incoherent sound, caught somewhere in the middle of his distraction at the blatant reminder of Raoul's state of undress and the tense anticipation of Raoul's query. He hadn't actually expected that question. There were so many others to ask, much more obvious ones like his mask, the opera house, and who Raoul really was. It probably shouldn't have been so surprising though because even Erik had wondered why he was the only one that Raoul remembered. What did it mean? He was not delusional enough to believe it was because he had a special place in Raoul's heart. Not yet at least. He had come to the conclusion that it was simply because he'd been the only one who had been in the room consistently since the accident.

"Why you?" Raoul motioned vaguely to the room. "They all knew me and Mademoiselle Daae was kind enough to lend me her room. I _must_ know her. But, who are you to me?" he asked again, desperate for an answer.

He wanted an answer that Erik didn't really have. "We're…" he hardly knew himself. He knew what he wanted them to be, what they could be if Raoul finally stopped being so stubborn, but they weren't truly rivals any longer nor were they really acquaintances and even less friends. "We're complicated."

"Complicated?" Raoul repeated. His frown deepened. "When I look at you, I do feel… confused." He shook his head and more hair dangled in front of his face. In a lighter tone, he said, "I imagine it would be complicated. How long has it been so?"

"Near five years now," Erik replied before scoffing, "Since the beginning."

"I am," he stumbled, "Raoul. And you are?"

"You do not remember my name?" Erik finally gave into the urge and brushed the wayward blond hair away from his face. As expected, Raoul held perfectly still and allowed him such liberty. His fingertips lightly brushed his cheek, a touch he wanted to turn into a caress simply because he _could_. He refrained, pulling his hand away with effort.

Raoul grinned even as he shook his head minutely, mindful of the hair Erik had tucked behind his ear. "I remember your face. More than confusion, you feel" – his smile widened – "familiar."

No one had ever smiled at Erik like that, simply pleased to be in his presence, at the mere thought of him. He desperately wanted to touch him again. "I am Erik," he said even as he realized he might have made the wrong decision. He took a step back, stunned at himself. It would be devastating to have this and to arbitrarily lose it one day when Raoul regained his memories. As much as he had been willing to take, he hadn't thought of how much he might lose when this was all over.

Raoul, completely unaware of his inner turmoil, grabbed his hand and tugged him forward. "Erik." He was so content to say his name so familiarly. "Erik, please sit."

And, even though Raoul released him, Erik felt just as compelled to sit down. Instead of the chair bedside, he was bold enough to sit on the bed, hesitantly angling himself towards Raoul, who seemed to brighten at his choice. The young man reached forward to reclaim his grasp on his hand. He held it between his hands, clinging to him, and Erik was wondering who was anchoring whom at the moment.

"Tell me," Raoul stared at their hands for a moment and it was as though he lost his train of thought for a moment. His smile diminished and seeing it, Erik's heart trembled. It was too soon. He squeezed Raoul's hand and the young man looked up with the same lost expression as before.

"Raoul?" Erik held his breath, waiting for his answer.

"Tell me everything I should know," Raoul replied. His smile was shaky, but it was the effort that meant more than his words.

Erik shifted forward so that their knees touched. "I believe we should start with the basics." He glanced down at their hands, too at the strangeness of it, the newness of it. He forged forward, not letting the past linger too long lest Raoul grab hold of it instead, "This is my opera house and you are an excellent patron, the best it has had in decades…"

Raoul relaxed, head resting on his knees, the barest of smiles lingering there as he listened to Erik spin his tale.

He held his hand tightly throughout it all.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 05

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: Why does ffnet keep erasing spaces in this file. FML.

Oh gosh… Erik's going to brainwash Raoul with his biased opinions. XD Well, hopefully it won't be too bad. It's a shorter chapter (although 2100 isn't _that _bad) – that's because I hadn't really meant to make him amnesiac and now I need to figure out the details of this arc. I already know the big picture… it's the minutiae that's killing me.

Last line intentionally ambiguous as to who is holding onto whom (it works for both of them after all).


	6. What We Gain

Title: Conspiracies  
#: 06. What We Gain  
Author: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul  
Summary: Erik keeping an amnesiac!Raoul company.  
Warning(s): naked!Raoul (although that seems to be less a warning a more a come-on. ;3)  
Word Count: 5,922  
Rating: T

A/N: Well, this took forever.  
Story note: This chapter is purely a fluff chapter. It jumps from moment to important moment. Our regularly scheduled fic with its separate but slightly connected theme will occur in the next (or the next next) chapter during which time will lapse. Time lapsing is good and so is getting back to vignettes. I'm getting there.

o.o.o.o

Raoul waited until the door closed and the click of the lock sounded before placing the tray of food that Madame Giry had brought on the side table. Despite his hunger, he disregarded the spread of fruit, bread, and cheeses in favour of asking Erik, "Why do you hide?"

"I am a ghost" was his immediate response, the words echoing eerily through the room. The statement was less absurd than it should have been, even less so when it was spoken from behind a mirror. But, it was not very much of an answer at all, and Erik knew it. Raoul knew it, too.

Erik had reluctantly revealed the secret passageway when Raoul insisted he know how he had appeared so suddenly when he had first woken. Instead of being wary that such an entry existed, the young man seemed rather excited, and Erik was reminded of _dark stories of the North_, of adventures a younger Raoul had taken that, between them, only Erik remembered.

"But it is the ballet instructor." Raoul pointed out, "Did you not say she knows who you are?"

Erik finally moved from behind the mirror, the glass sliding to the side, and he could see the quirk of Raoul's lip, revealing that the excitement at such a contraption had yet to disappear. "There are few liberties I take with anyone." He moved to sit on the bed and Raoul wordlessly motioned for him to grab the tray. Obediently, Erik placed the tray on his lap and allowed him to take a grape. "Contrary to what you apparently believe, she and I do not meet weekly to speak over trivialities. The most contact I have with her are through missives."

"Notes?" Raoul mused.

Erik paused, certain he had never used that particular word in his explanations – there was a list of words he actively avoided in fear of triggering unwanted memories. Before he could question him though, Raoul continued.

"So, I am special." He grinned cheekily as he popped another grape into his mouth.

Erik waited for him to continue, knowing that was less a question than it was another one of those observations he was beginning to dread.

"_I _am allowed to see you." Raoul's smile widened, and looking away, Erik cleared his throat. He looked back when he felt Raoul place a hand on his forearm. "I am allowed to touch you." There was a hint of hesitancy and Erik wanted nothing more than to remove that. What Raoul was saying was the truth. It was too revealing a truth and there, just hanging in the back of Erik's mind was always the expectation that disgust would soon be following his realization.

There was no disgust though, and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way.

"You _are_ special," Erik asserted.

o.o.o

"Mademoiselle Daae!" Raoul gathered the blankets around himself, self-conscious of his state of undress, but he sounded pleased to see her. He looked around the room; his now natural inclination was to look for Erik when he was not by his side. The older man had moved not seconds before Christine knocked to announce herself, but while he did not hide, he did move near across the room to sit by the vanity. Raoul stared at him in confusion.

When he glanced back at Christine, he realized that she was still standing just by the door. "Pardon my manners." He motioned, confusion erased with a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Please do sit. This is, after all, your room."

Smiling in response to his high spirits, she sat in the chair by the bed, Erik's chair or what would have been Erik's chair had he not chosen to sit next to him most of the time. Raoul made no move from the confinement of the bed and she wondered if it were because of his state of undress or because of the injuries he had sustained.

"How do you fare?" she asked. He looked like the Raoul she had come to know after their separation, but he _felt _like the boy she had once known. The odd thing was that she had not realized there had been such a vast difference until now.

"Only some pain remains," he grinned, but his posture and unnatural stillness seemed to belie the truth. "My head no longer aches."

One factor held true though, Raoul was always moving, be it hand gestures, shuffling feet, or squirming in his seat. He would not be sitting calmly in the bed.

"And I hardly remember this," he gestured at the bruising around his neck. A wide band of some horrible shade of pale green and purple overlaid a dark red loop that clearly circled his neck as though the Punjab lasso was still there.

Glancing at the scowl that seemed to be making permanent residence on Erik's face, she knew that Raoul was telling a well-worn lie that he had yet to successfully make him believe.

"All I have been doing lately is eating and sleeping," he continued, not really noticing her distraction because he himself seemed rather distracted by Erik, who was doing a fine job of pointedly not meeting his eyes while still being completely focused on him.

"I will need to stretch out some unused muscles."

It took her some time before she realized that he looked so confused because Erik was sitting so far away.

"I am certain that I shall be making a full recovery soon though."

Between Raoul wanting to call him over and Erik wanting to sit nearer, Christine could hardly control the exasperated sigh that wanted to come out.

"Physically of course," he was babbling by this point, "I am certain the rest will follow."

He punctuated his last statement with a pout, and Christine could not help but grin, almost coo at his obvious dejection at the distance between them. That was an expression she would never have seen Raoul make at Erik had his memory returned. He seemed somehow freer without the past, unfettered by misconceptions and his upbringing, but she wondered if something as drastic as losing his memory was really what it took for him to lower his guard long enough to fall in love with him. Would regaining it make him hate Erik more for what had happened? She feared the answer enough to push such thoughts rather viciously from her mind.

Instead, she considered letting him continue to babble just to see how much longer the feared opera ghost could hold out from ending their misery and simply moving. However, she had someone waiting for her as well, so she interrupted.

"Did Madame Giry bring you food?"

"Oh, yes," Raoul started to nod vigorously but froze suddenly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Erik tense. After a moment, Raoul continued speaking as though nothing had happened even though he held himself as still as possible and his voice was almost imperceptibly strained, "She is quite nice despite how stern she looks. Everyone here is quite hospitable." He might have been able to fool anyone with such control, save for Erik who watched him constantly and Christine who was too familiar with Raoul when he was in pain, but he would not remember that.

It took long moments before Erik relaxed, and Christine could see the effort it took to convince himself not to cross the room to be at Raoul's side. She was reminded why she supported Erik in this; he _would _be good for Raoul.

Forcing herself to smile, she stifled the urge to tell Raoul there was no need to hide his pain from her. She had seen him suffer and had helped heal him before. The only problem was that she did not think he trusted her enough in this state to believe her. "Yes, well, you are our patron and are quite loved."

He responded to her statement with a tense grin, but it was soon replaced with a familiar easy smile, one that she was beginning to think was false. "Are you not rehearsing with the others?" he asked. "Erik told me that they've chosen such a good one." He directed at said man, who finally relented and met his gaze, "What was it again?"

Christine interjected before he could reply. "Erik?"

The ghost looked away again, but not without first sending a glare Christine's way. He stood up abruptly and checked to make sure the door was locked, even though he had seen Christine do so earlier. Before the accident, Erik had wanted to hear his name spoken by Raoul, but there had never been a time to introduce himself properly. Of course the young man had known his name since Christine used it constantly, but there had never been a time that he had not been _Opera Ghost_ or _Phantom_ to the viscount. Erik received a distinct pleasure at hearing it spoken so easily and Christine knew it. She knew too much.

"Is there…?" Raoul began to ask.

"No. Indeed." She was quick to recover, "I just remembered I came with a message that the managers have requested another visit from the doctor." She did not bother to hide the fact that she was staring at Erik when she relayed the news. It was _his _reaction that mattered.

"Oh, I…" Raoul was about to respond when Erik spoke over him.

"When?" Erik paced back towards the vanity, turning towards the mirror so that he caught her eyes in the reflection and Raoul could not see his face very well.

Raoul bore the pain it caused to lean forward to try to see his expression but failed. Instead, he was left looking between the two, not sure why he was not involved in a conversation about his own well-being.

"This evening," she replied. The smile from earlier was gone and it seemed as though they were caught in a battle of wills, some subtext and just another conversation that Raoul was not privy to.

"So soon?" Erik asked.

Raoul ventured to say, "I am the patron after all." Neither seemed to hear him. "I do suppose I worried them quite a bit."

Christine wondered if Erik was going to refuse, but he surprised her by simply crossing his arms and glancing over at Raoul.

"Tell them he will be free from eight to nine this evening. No sooner. No later."

Erik's statement had been a clear dismissal and Christine was glad for it. She hated to admit that it was difficult spending time with Raoul like this despite his rather positive attitude. It would be better if he acted completely different from the man she knew. The little discrepancies were so jarring. He was so similar but just different enough to make her uneasy; it was like coaxing her into believing all was well before being rudely reminded that her dearest friend thought her a stranger.

She moved to grasp one of Raoul's hands, holding it between both of her own. "We will speak more tomorrow," she promised.

"I…" Raoul nodded, still a little annoyed and confused by her exchange with Erik, but he found that he could be nothing but polite to her. "Thank you for your visit."

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, although the act was followed immediately by glancing at the masked man. Raoul frowned once more at the challenge he saw in her expression.

o.o.o

The two men sat against the headboard in a manner that once would have been rather uncomfortable, but in their current state, was anything but. Erik had meticulously placed a battery of pillows against the wood in a manner that he had argued would keep Raoul the most comfortable because of his back. It also necessarily kept them close together in the very center of the bed, but Raoul was not complaining and Erik was fully clothed so nothing untoward could happen. A blanket was still draped around Raoul's shoulders, the ends of which were laid across his lap, keeping his privates well hidden – though Erik found his eyes straying down there anyway. The younger man had turned towards him slightly so that his knee was almost imperceptibly leaning upon Erik's thigh. He doubted that Raoul even realized it even though it was almost all he could think about, save for the hand that Raoul had taken to holding whenever they were near enough and refused to relinquish. The viscount's bare feet peeked out from beneath the blankets; they looked pale in comparison to the black dress pants that Erik wore. He stared at the contrast while Raoul absentmindedly flexed and curled his toes against the blankets. He was too busy staring at Erik's hand and contemplating his next series of questions to notice.

Erik had discovered that surprisingly, though Raoul would gladly listen to what he had to say, he had very little questions of his own. He was content to sit in the silence, completely at ease, read, and doze every now and then, head listing towards him. When a query did cross his mind, they came as a bundle, one question overlapping the next in a series of increasingly unpleasant topics that made Erik wish he would go back to being complacently amnesiac.

"And Mademoiselle Daae?" Raoul asked suddenly, apropos to nothing in particular.

Erik had been expecting the question though. "Was my explanation of her talents and abilities not thorough enough for you, Vicomte?" He had taken to using the title simply to see Raoul crinkle his nose at being called as such. There was no sting in it now, no engendered separation that he had once felt all-too-distinctly. All that remained was some sort of teasing familiarity, especially now that all he could think of the title was Raoul's reaction. His brows had furrowed and eyes narrowed, searching within himself before he concluded rather bluntly, _I feel nothing like a viscount. _

In response to his question, Raoul scoffed, even as he squeezed his hand, as though that were a chastisement. He did not respond right away though. "It was…" he searched for the proper word, "adequate, but it feels as though you know more and are unwilling to share it."

Erik tensed and the silence that followed was particularly telling. He realized belatedly that he should have known how to respond to such an astute observation. Raoul was full of them. However, Christine would always be a sore topic, regardless of whether Raoul had his memory or not. He simply did not know what to say, and that was yet another thing to bemoan because the younger man seemed to have no problems speaking about her.

"Have you and she…?"

Erik quickly asked, "What would make you think that?" He did not want to know the end of such a question, and it was apparent that Raoul did not have a similar hesitancy towards such topics.

Grinning, Raoul gingerly turned so that he could look at Erik directly. He seemed eager to know, even though the interest did not seem to reach his eyes. They were too serious and it made Erik pause, wondering why he was so curious about them. Before he could give it much thought, Raoul answered him.

"I do believe it is in the way you look at her."

Erik was quick to respond because he could speak the truth in this matter. "I do believe I look at her the same as I look at anyone else." There had been a time when he had wanted her to be more for him, but now, she was but one of the only allies he had.

"As you would look at the managers?" Raoul contested. His disbelief of Erik statement was obvious.

"I look at _them _as the fools they are," Erik retorted.

After a moment's consideration, Raoul tilted his head as a concession to that fact, but he did not allow himself to be derailed. "You seem quite close."

Erik narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious as to why he was persisting with this line of questioning. "She has been a student and only just recently a confidant."

"She is beautiful," Raoul said. "Have you never considered courting her, for surely she must hold you in high regard as well?" When Erik merely lifted one eyebrow and gestured vaguely at his mask, he quickly defended his statement, "You were her tutor. Why would she not hold you in high regard?"

It came as a flash of inspiration that there was one reason why Raoul could be asking so many questions about Christine, and Erik was not pleased about such prospects.

"And she…" Raoul continued to try to explain.

"You and Christine are nothing more than friends," Erik interrupted, leaving no room for argument. "She is not interested in you or me."

Raoul's complete confusion at his outburst made him reconsider the conclusions he had drawn. He blamed his innate paranoia for bleeding into their conversation, especially when Raoul had one of those contemplative looks that he always dreaded seeing. It meant that Raoul would soon reach a conclusion that Erik was unsure either of them was ready for.

More calmly, he tried to explain, "At one time I may have, but" – and Erik was uncertain how to finish that sentence, how much he should reveal. Raoul did not remember his intentions, and he did not want to overwhelm him so soon. Instead, he settled for as much as the truth he could say, "But, you and I, we are complicated enough for me."

Raoul's hand twitched in his but he did not pull away. He simply moved to lean against the pillows, once again lost in thought.

o.o.o

Erik pulled the blankets up to Raoul's shoulders. The injured man was still sleeping on his stomach. The wounds had scabbed over and the redness had reduced considerably. Raoul adamantly claimed that only some mild discomfort lingered, but Erik was reluctant to believe him since he hardly attempted to move more than necessary even several days after the accident. He said the ointment helped; so, whenever he saw him look uncomfortable, Erik insisted that he reapply it. If his insistence had the added bonus of being able to touch Raoul at least three times a day, it was not intentional.

He did not bother to greet Christine as she entered the room.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, seeing Raoul sleeping.

Turning slowly, Erik regarded her. She looked… happy, happier than he had seen her for years now, even when Raoul had first come to Paris and his opera house. Of course, such happiness was carefully hidden beneath her concern towards Raoul, but she held herself differently these days. He often wondered what had happened to the meek, little chorus girl he had first known.

"To what are you referring?" he asked, curious as to why this question was coming up now.

She crossed her arms and tried to stare him down. It did not work; instead, she moved closer to check on Raoul before taking a seat in front of the mirror. "What are you doing while the rest of us are away?"

Erik took a seat on the edge of the bed, an action that made her eyes widen slightly. It was a bold move. He had kept a certain amount of distance between Raoul and him whenever she was in the room and Christine knew he was making a statement by not doing so now. "The same thing I have been doing since you last asked."

"_Keeping him company_?" she repeated the phrase he had spoken before. She looked first at the sleeping man then at the ghost, switching several times before making a face and asking, "Truly?" She stared at Raoul, no longer so forcefully suspicious. "Truly?"

"Do you believe me to be a liar?" Erik asked. "Should I not be permitted to spend time with him?" She had made no complaints about it before. He had seen her hesitate several times, but she always seemed to come to the correct decision to leave Raoul in his care.

She shook her head, but it was obvious that she was still surprised. "I know you seek to sway his opinion now." There was no judgment in her voice though. She simply stated it as the fact it was.

"And," he was interested to know, "do you believe I can?"

Shrugging her delicate shoulders, she replied slowly, trying to gather her thoughts, "I do believe it is possible. I simply do not think _keeping him company_ will be enough."

He glared at her openly.

But she would not be swayed in her opinion. By now, she had rather expected him to do something more drastic than nurse Raoul to health and refuse him any company but his own. "It is simply a chance you must take." It was almost endearing how hesitant the ghost was being.

She looked entirely too amused, so much so that he decided to try to turn the tables on her, "You have been around less as of late."

"And _you_ have been trapped here," she crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt, "so my business has finally become _my_ business once more."

Erik could not help but make a face at her confidence. "You have grown quite bold lately."

"It is not lately, dear Angel." She stood up once and ambled over to the other side of the bed. She had planned to place a hand on Raoul's shoulder, but seeing Erik tense at the motion, she settled for touching the blankets on which he lay. "It has been since _your_ eyes have wandered, and I have found that my eyes can wander from my Angel without fear of reprisal."

"You may have fear of that yet if you continue as such." Erik warned. It was true that he was willing to allow some other suitor to take her attentions, but if any of them attempted to take her away from music, then he would have no hesitation in disposing of them. "This beau of yours…"

"Suitor," she corrected.

Erik tried to think of this newest one. He was titled, a baron if he remembered correctly. He not only laughed too loudly, he spoke too sure of himself. He was too enthusiastic and he had little regard for himself or the rumours when it came to Christine. "He is…"

"Very much like Raoul." Christine grinned at him.

Erik looked down at the sleeping viscount. He muttered, "I do not know if that recommends him to me at all."

She laughed knowingly as she walked towards the door. "I know it does." She paused by the door and said contemplatively, "Yet, this one has eyes only for me."

Erik could not ask her what she meant because she had already made her exit.

o.o.o

Erik was pacing once more. Raoul put down the book he was reading. There was a rather large pile of them on the side table. The managers first had the idea, not wanting their patron to become bored with the days confined to the room, and Erik, upon seeing their selection, had scoffed and tossed them out into the hallway before bringing books from his own private collection. He had been pleased to see the Raoul was quite the voracious reader, and more often than not, Erik could convince him to read aloud just so that he could bask in the viscount's voice and relax.

Now was not one of those times though, and Raoul knew it was because he was scheduled to have another meeting with the doctor. Each visit only served to make the older man more restless. It was worse before each appointment.

Seeking to distract him, Raoul caught his arm to stop him. It did not take much to convince him to sit. "You have told me about everyone else." He coaxed Erik to move further onto the bed. "_And_ you refuse to truly speak about us in detail." He grabbed Erik's hand when it seemed as though he was about to move away. "So, tell me about myself."

"Ah." Hearing his question, Erik relaxed against him finally, their shoulders pressed together. "I do not know what to say."

"I think you do." Raoul grinned, "You may want to start with all my positive attributes."

Erik scoffed, but he tried, "You are… strong-willed."

"You mean stubborn," Raoul translated for him and smiled widely at the sidelong glance sent his way.

"Passionate."

Sighing, Raoul nodded to himself. "Emotional, as I feared."

Erik was faster with the next trait. "Trusting."

And so was Raoul. "Naïve."

No matter how accurate they were, Erik narrowed his eyes at his interpretations. Raoul only schooled his features and nonchalantly began to smooth the blankets around his waist. He glanced up at Erik for a second and grinned a little quirk of one side of his lips, mischief and laughter barely contained in his expression.

Erik had never wanted to kiss him more than at that moment.

He quickly cleared his throat and looked away even though he squeezed Raoul's hand in his. "At times," he amended, "a few times mind you, business-minded."

"Oh," Raoul slid his knees up so that he could place an elbow on them, chin cupped in his hand as he replied, "I am both shrewd _and_ naïve. I am quite talented."

Erik turned so that they were better facing each other, so that he could see Raoul so obviously smug with himself, thinking himself so witty and looking absolutely endearing for it. "You are loud and brash."

"Young, then." Raoul looked at him with mock sympathy, "I must be quite a handful."

His immediate answer to that statement was _Yes, wonderfully so_, but he did not say it. Instead, he asked, "You think yourself quite smart, don't you?"

"Oh, I must be quite wise," Raoul retorted.

It was too much. It was an easy move to slide his hand from Raoul's grasp and grab his wrist, twisting his body and using both his weight and momentum to pin Raoul down onto the bed. Even though the younger man winced at the sudden movement, Erik found he did not feel guilty with him laughing so raucously. Raoul squirmed beneath him but did not attempt to free himself further. Erik did not know what to do next besides stare because he had Raoul's wrists trapped above his head and his body laid out before him. His hair was a mess, and his lips were wet and parted as he tried to catch his breath from laughing. His knees had opened to let Erik rest between them almost too comfortably and only a thin sheet and Erik's clothes separated their groins. He did not know how he had forgotten that Raoul was in fact naked still, but it became the only thing he could think about, save for the urgent need to kiss him. He _needed _to kiss him now. His eyes were fixed on Raoul's face, searching for a hint of reciprocated desire as he lowered himself slowly.

"Why do I feel as though we've been in this position before?" Raoul asked suddenly and even though it was a mere whisper, it snapped Erik out of his trance.

He scrambled off the bed immediately and avoided looking back on the bed where Raoul laid innocent and confused and absolutely tempting. He had barely calmed himself when he said rather bitterly, "We've never been in that position before."

o.o.o

Raoul was sprawled out on the bed on his stomach, the blankets somewhere at the foot of the bed and even after all the days spent together, Erik could do naught else but enjoy the view. He considered it one of his greater accomplishments that he had convinced Raoul that modesty was unnecessary between them and that it was indeed the healthier option to remain nude so as not to exacerbate his injuries. The viscount was reading aloud, one hand holding the book up, while the other idly traced patterns in the sheets. Every now and then, he would lift his foot only to drop it onto the bed again.

His back was better, considerably better, and Erik was almost willing to spare the doctor's life for his failure with Raoul's memory if not for the success of the healing of his body. They had been assured that there would be no scarring, and Raoul was moving much more freely now. Enough so that Erik was certain he would want to leave this room completely.

"Do you not find it odd?" Erik asked suddenly because he needed to know now before he no longer had a chance to ask.

Raoul lowered the book and turned slightly. "What?"

His nude form was almost enough to make Erik forget about the conversation entirely, but he pressed on. "Me."

Raoul still did not understand, but he guessed, "The mask?"

"No, _me_." Erik grabbed the sheets and tossed it over Raoul so that he could focus. Taking the hint, Raoul covered himself before sitting up properly, and Erik continued, "_Me_. I am the Opera Ghost."

Raoul just smiled. "You sound quite the dramatist." There was no sting to his words.

But Erik turned from him, moved to a dark corner and if there was anything Raoul had learned well since waking was that he had the ability to find the darkest corners and brood there for long hours if he was allowed to. Upon waking, if Erik were not by his side, Raoul would usually simply look to some corner of the room to find him.

He was already brooding there now. Raoul knew he should have watched what he said because the older man was so touchy about the mask, about his face. Erik tried so hard to ignore its presence, which made him think too hard upon it and then deny that he was doing so, which made him even more irritable. Raoul also knew that when he said _I am the Opera Ghost,_ the masked man was thinking of all the worst parts of himself. He saw how the managers used the phrase, saw how Christine never referred to him as such and only when Erik was particularly ornery did he call himself the Opera Ghost – that or when he was being unnecessarily dramatic.

Raoul climbed out of bed, the sheets trailing after him. He did not move very far though, not wanting to literally trap Erik in a corner. "I do not find you odd at all. You are," he paused and Erik looked at him in anticipation, "you are you. You have kept me company and" – he shrugged – "you have helped me."

His words seemed to have the opposite effect of coaxing him out. Instead, Erik refused to look at him.

"You _are _frustrating at times," he admitted, "but I suppose I am as well. And," Raoul frowned. "I do not like when you simply isolate yourself like that."

Erik retorted, "Oh, so you conveniently remember what you do or do not like now?"

There was a heavy pause, and Erik looked as surprised as Raoul felt that he had said that. They often tried to ignore the obvious fact that Raoul _still _couldnot remember anything; it was easier to pretend that the little world they had created between them was normal if they did. Their world was already crumbling down though.

Taking a deep breath, Raoul was not sure what would come out of his mouth. Some truth was going to reveal itself and he almost did not want to respond at all. "No." All that came though was a simple statement. "But that distinctly makes me uncomfortable."

Erik considered him from his place before moving closer. He moved until he was well in Raoul's personal space, enough that Raoul was almost forced to sit back on the bed. Still, neither made a comment and Raoul knew this was yet another test that Erik was so fond of giving. He reached up, sheet still fisted in his hand to grab Erik's shirt.

The older man nodded. "I will refrain from making you ill at ease."

o.o.o

Christine giggled. She could not help it. Even Erik looked rather pleased with himself even though he was back by the seat in front of the vanity.

Raoul stood up and turned around for her inspection. "I am wearing clothes."

Said clothes were obviously not tailored for him. The sleeves were slightly too long, the cut for someone a little taller. He had not bothered to fasten the first button so the shirt revealed the fading bruising around his neck as well as much of his chest. The trousers hung quite low on his hips, dangerously so and when she glanced at Erik, Christine found that it was not only her eyes that were being drawn to the precarious state of his trousers. He was still barefoot and he was constantly trying to avoid stepping on the hem and jerking his trousers even lower. Christine would be lying if she said she did not want to see that happen at least once.

"And this is an accomplishment?" she teased.

"Oh, truly." Raoul began to roll his sleeves. "I was naked for quite some time. Thankfully, Erik" – he tilted his head towards said man, who was currently lounging in a chair trying to seem indifferent to Raoul's appearance – "was kind enough to assure me that he had not been put out by my lack of clothing and when I insisted, he even let me borrow some of his."

She glanced at the masked man, who was altogether looking too pleased with himself. "I can imagine how accommodating he has been," she deadpanned. "But perhaps he should have brought more than trousers and a white, linen shirt."

Erik shrugged. The blond was lucky that he had even agreed to obtain clothes for him in the first place, much less bothered with the trousers. Giving him clothes meant that they would finally be able to take him away, that the managers had finally decided keeping their patron captive would not go over well once he regained his memory. If he regained his memory. Erik tried not to scowl at the thought.

Christine pointed out, "We could have just as easily sent for your own clothes."

"It," Raoul shook his head, "it would have felt improper to be in another man's clothing."

She wondered at his logic. "And Erik's?"

"I have his permission," he stated proudly.

"He does," Erik intoned. "And you may wear_ my _clothing whenever you like," he assured. "It is a free standing offer."

"So generous." Christine laughed.

"I _am_ known to be generous," Erik retorted.

But it was when Raoul added, "He is," with such simple honesty that Erik hesitated.

Raoul leaving was horrible and necessary, and Erik was tempted to forbid it from happening. He could not dispel the feeling that his departure was not going to end well for him, no matter how little the distance mattered. Erik would not mind spending time at the Chagny estate, but the memories there seemed so much more pressing, more potent, and Erik would be lost to it all.

He saw the look Christine was giving him. She was no longer amused and he did not want her pity, not when he might not need it. Not when it was too soon.

It was too soon.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 06

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: Finally. Well, something interesting's going to happen in the next chapter. I'm almost sure of it. I kind of like how Christine is on the edge of whether she thinks seducing Raoul at this stage is a good or a bad idea. I mean, Erik should totally go for it, but eh, I'm still not sure.


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